Grand Illusions: Threads of Time
by Rhetorique
Summary: Hermione is on the hunt for the last time turner, but she must find it before the wrong people do.


Hills dressed in vineyard vines stretch across the horizon. Along the road ahead a small cluster of buildings drew into sight. Quaint stone store fronts with small blue, white and red flags dangling, almost unmoving from simple awnings. Had Hermione traveled by floo or portkey, she never would have laid eyes on this sun-kissed countryside.

Just before she reached the village she took a sharp right and the road transitioned from smooth road to an uneven dirt path. A gasp escaped her as she began to bounce unexpectedly in her seat. Her knuckles turned white as she tightly gripped the steering wheel and tapped her foot on the breaks. Although she had passed the ministry's muggle driving exam in her expected exceptional fashion, she still did not feel comfortable controlling a potentially faulty machine made of steel and fiberglass.

Her off-roading experience came to a welcomed end as she rolled to a stop in front of a stone cottage. The external doors and shutters were painted a soft and distinct blue that reminded her of the powdery color of the Beauxbatons' school uniform, and a small dormer window peeked out from the roof. From the car the cottage backdrop seemed a simple blue sky, but as she approached the narrow walk to the front door, she could see the peak of a drop off in the distance and rolling waves of ocean even more distant.

She found the key hidden under the broken flower pot and entered the home. Evidence from Fleur's casual warning before Hermione left the country immediately hit her in the face: stale air and dust. A ghost of a home, long abandoned since the war. The wooden floors creaked under her weight as she slowly strode through the hall. A Minister of Magic cowering in safe house, a forgotten property of a relative.

No. She could not think of it that way. Bravery comes in many forms. She parted ways with her Weasley family to protect them. It would never be enough for her to simply leave and go into hiding. No, her husband and children had to leave and go into hiding too, only not with her. Staying with her these days became too high of a risk that she did not dare to bear.

A mumbled spell lit the candles in the scorched sconces lighting the dark hall. She passed an open room, a sitting room with floor to ceiling bookcases and a tall fireplace… one no longer connected to the Floo Network. A door sitting adjacent from the sitting room lead to the kitchen, where everything seemed small and cramped, but still cozy and humble. She poked her head into a small door under the hall staircase.

"Lumos," she whispered.

The dark of the cupboard lit under the presence of her illuminating wand revealing broken wooden chairs stacked atop one another and towering columns of thick books. Everything was covered with cobweb. Neither Harry or Ron would have loved this cupboard for their own nostalgic reasons. Hermione let a small smile break across her face for a moment, think about her friend and her lover. After defeating Voldemort, everything was supposed to be different. Everything was different… for a while.

She climbed up the stairs and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror across the top step. When did the trenches under her eyes become so deeply cut?

A narrow bed lay in a corner of the attic where the roof sloped down. To the side of the bed stood a short nightstand with a picture in a frame. Hermione picked it up and stared at the captured moment. Fleur and Bill, much younger than they are now, dancing at their wedding. She remembered that night. The figures in the background shifted, looking on at the couple with amusement. Tonks, Lupin, Fred… they are all gone, but here they are trapped on this paper in that moment in time.

Hermione looked out of the dormer window. Grey clouds slowly crept over the sky from the northeast. She could smell the dampness in the air. It made the house smell even more dusty and moldy, but that did not bother her. Something along the window frame caught her eye. She ran her finger over a crude carving, etched deep into the wood: RL. The hairs on her arms stood to attention as if bothered by the defaced structure. She looked down at the wedding photo again and locked her eyes on Lupin.


End file.
